


can’t draw for shit with a cast on

by wtfmulder



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining Eddie Kaspbrak, Repression but make it fashion, during the fight, more kissing bridge bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: What does Eddie do during the fight in 1989?





	can’t draw for shit with a cast on

His mother had told him fifteen minutes, _Eddie-bear, fifteen minutes, and I’m watching the clock, _and he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he left the pharmacy. He runs most of the way home, face covered in slobber and snot and it makes him feel even dirtier. _So_ fucking _disgusting_, he screeches in his head, and even though the leper is far behind him, slithered away who the fuck knows where, it’s like he can feel its slimy tongue scraping against the roof of his mouth and deep into his throat, and he has to pull out his inhaler.

It’s weird to do it with his left hand, but he gets the job done. He sprawls out on the ground, too worn out to care about getting his clothes dirty. He can’t go home like this, with a wet face and red eyes, his mom will have a fucking heart attack. And — and —

He just betrayed her. He left his own mom to die in Mr. Keene’s pharmacy, and no matter how much he rocks himself back and forth, back pushed against the splintered wooden post of the Kissing Bridge, no matter how much he tells himself _it’s not real, she’s still at home, it’s that stupid fucking clown, you didn’t hurt her, _all he can hear is **Eddie I knew you’d leave me, Eddie don’t let it get me! **

He has to calm himself down before he gets home. He takes another puff of his inhaler and closes his eyes. He pretends he is making his bed. He pretends he is riding his bike, he pretends he’s petting his neighbor’s little cat (“You can pet her but you better not tell your mom, son, unless you want to get tested for rabies”), he pretends he’s running laps and laps around his house, ten years old and shriek-laughing at the top of his lungs, free and happy and _fast so fast _**Get inside Eddie! You’re not built for that kind of activity! You’ll only hurt yourself Eddie you’ll only trip and fall and break your ankle and then you’ll never save me Eddie you’ll leave me all alone again in that cellar to die your own poor mother Eddie — **

He thinks of his friends. He misses them. He doesn’t see them playing around anymore, not even when he’s out in town with his mom. He hasn’t been on the phone much, his mom sniffs at him every time he tries to pick it up, but he heard a little from Richie, when they had bumped into him inside the grocery store.

Richie was so happy to see him. He lets that image take over in his mind for a little bit, the way his huge fucking bug eyes grew even bigger behind those glasses and his long ass arms flailed a little bit in the air, almost knocking over an entire display of Campbell’s soup in his hurry to reach Eddie.

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Eddie had asked, whispering low enough that his mom wouldn’t hear him. She was shuffling through a huge binder of coupons, and wouldn’t finish that activity for at least five minutes.

“Big Bill fucking decked me,” Richie said, very much not in a whisper. “Out of nowhere. The man’s unhinged, Eds,” and he tried the fucking Vincent Price impression, laughing like a maniac next boxes stacked with grape tomatoes.

It was loud enough to catch his mother’s attention. She snapped her face up out of her binder, piercing them with her stare as sharp as a flu shot. Eddie snatched his hand back—he’d been reaching out to feel Richie’s bruise, to brush it with his fingertips, he hadn’t even known he was doing it, he just wanted to feel it, see if it was as bad as it looked and make sure Richie was taking good care of it because of course he fucking wasn’t —

“Richard, Eddie is grounded,” Mrs. Kaspbrak warned, and something in Richie’s eyes sent a flash of fury through Eddie, it wasn’t pity, and it wasn’t guilt, nor fear. It was anger. Richie was angry at Eddie’s mother and Eddie was too. He whipped around to face her, face flushing as red as the tomatoes they all stood next to, and his mouth curled into a pouty snarl.

“I can’t say hi to my goddamn _friend_, mother?” And of course he regretted it before he even finished the words, stuttering like Bill as he tried to apologize over her wails. She dragged him out of the store without emptying her cart that was full of frozen dinners and all kinds of things that shouldn’t be left out in an aisle. Behind them Richie was clapping and cheering, delighted, the fucking idiot.

For some reason that is the memory that slows his breathing. His eyes are no longer wet. He sniffs, wiping his snot on the front of his polo shirt. He can tell his mom that he’d run into a bad patch of pollen and had a sneezing fit. The allergy pills will make him drowsy but at least she’ll let him watch TV early then.

He feels warm on the inside. Even thinking about the leper doesn’t make the warmth go away. Richie somehow makes him feel brave. When Eddie starts to think about why, his chest feels tight again, so he doesn’t think about it. Instead he focuses on carving the little doodle into the bridge he’d started when he sat down, and when that doodle becomes a shitty R, and when that shitty R somehow gets a shitty heart scraped around it, he doesn’t think about that, either. He sits back to assess the handiwork, whatever his good arm is broken anyway, drops his carving rock, and wipes his hands off on his shorts. Then he begins the short trek home, running as fast as his legs will carry him, not giving any shits about a broken ankle or a disgusting leper.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! First It fic. Find me on tumblr @unstabbededdiekaspbrak! I’m desperate for fandom friends!


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